


Dear Angel

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:18:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6221443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen takes a rare quiet moment to admire his angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Angel

**Author's Note:**

> For my ladies - M, Wendy, Liv. Y'all are a constant source of inspiration. Thank you.

Dear Angel…

Do you know how soft your lips are? 

I don’t think you do. Just like everything else about yourself, you don’t give your lips enough credit.

I’ve heard you say you think you’re not a great actor, but you are. I’ve heard you say you don’t do anything amazing, but you do. You’ve told me this show would do just fine if they killed you off… and you’re dead wrong, I’ll tell you that. Without you, they wouldn’t have me either. Without me they wouldn’t have Jared.

Without you, Angel, there is no show. You’re the glue that holds us all together. You’re the backbone that props us up. You’re the juice that keeps us running when we feel like giving up.

You’re everything.

And to me, Angel… 

See, you’re sleeping right now, and that’s good, because you gave it your all yesterday. It’s a heavy storyline for you this season, I know, and sometimes you’re not sure who you are at the end of the day. I’ve been there, Angel. I know that feeling of standing in front of the mirror, catching sight of the bone-tired face staring back at you and thinking  _ that can’t possibly be me _ . 

So rest, Angel, while you can. We’re not due on set for another four hours. I’ll wake you in three and a half.

Meanwhile, I’m the lucky one, because I get to sit here and watch you. I love watching you in all your elements, Angel: focused, playful, sexy… OK, I lied. Sexy is my favorite. Maybe that’s because no matter what you’re doing, it always looks sexy to me.

We’re like a fucking rom-com right now, seriously. I mean, with the noted exception of the amazing homoerotic sex we had last night.

Yeah. Other than that, romantic comedy all the way. You’re stretched out on your stomach, face turned in my direction, looking unearthly beautiful as you snore softly. Your eyelids keep fluttering and I think you must be dreaming, and I’m suddenly wondering what you’re dreaming about. I hope I’m there, and I hope it’s good.

Your hands are folded under your head and under a pillow, which is a damn shame because you have wonderful, masterful hands. But I can see the muscles flex in your back and your arms as you shift; I can follow the curve of your spine to where it disappears under the sheet just above your tailbone, and I chuckle to myself because I know exactly what that sheet is hiding. You blush every time I tell you that you have a beautiful ass… I think that’s why I do it. You’re adorable beyond words when you’re embarrassed. The way you duck your head and bite your lip as you smile… there’s nothing like that face. Nothing on Earth. Trust me, I’ve checked.

The part I find most amazing is exactly what I have to say to get you to make that face. I can utter the filthiest, most obscene suggestions in your ear in the middle of a panel in front of thousands of fans and all I get out of you is a wink and a quirk of that one eyebrow. The one that says I’ll pay for that later - to be fair,  _ that _ is why I do  _ that _ . But I digress.

I can maul you from behind in a crowded hotel hallway and you just laugh it off. Jared can drop embarrassing hints like  _ taste the rainbow _ on stage and you’re just full of laughs and playful jabs and little nuzzles of your nose to my jaw… I do love that. I love that so much. Especially in public. I don’t think I’ve ever said that, but Angel, I love the way you show me affection even when you’ve been told explicitly not to. You always find a way.

None of that gets you. None of that phases you. But when I hold you and I stare into your eyes… when I’m gentle and reverent and I worship you the way you deserve… when I say  _ you’re beautiful _ and  _ you’re amazing _ and  _ this world doesn’t deserve you _ \- that gets you every time. That makes you dip your head and chuckle and brush it off. Almost like you think you don’t deserve it.

You do. Trust me, you do. Granted you’ve got a few more years than me on this planet (geezer) but the beauty of your soul is unmatched in my experience.

Now  _ that _ … that would definitely make you blush. I’ll have to remember to say it to you later.

Dear Angel…

Do you know how much I want to take you in my arms and wake you up? The way I do sometimes on a Sunday morning, starting with holding your head in my hands and kissing you, just lips on lips, no tongue, no force. I know you like that, when we’re rested and have nowhere to be and I can bring you around as leisurely as we wish. I know you’re awake when you start kissing me back; when your hands come up to the back of my head and start to thread through my hair like you’re grounding yourself in my presence.  _ Yes, Angel, it’s really me. I’m really here. We really have all day. _

It’s not Sunday, and I’ve promised myself I’ll behave. But fuck, it’s hard.

And yes, that double entendre was intentional.

I like when we fuck, Angel, but can I tell you a secret? 

I like making love to you even more.

I like the slow, gentle roam of your hands over my back. I like the way our tongues slide together like a couple of rolling waves rather than a hurricane. I like rolling on the bed with you and making out without moving on, trading top and bottom again and again until we’ve pushed all the covers on the floor. I like feeling your body pressed against mine. I like rolling my hips to make you groan because our bellies have become so deliciously slick with each other that our cocks slide together and it makes your toes curl. I like working you on my fingers like that’s all I plan to do all day, because I know you like when I finger you, and you know what Angel? So do I. Stretching you open and hearing those little mewling noises you make when I hit the right spots just lights me up inside.

I like kissing you down your middle. I like the way you hiss and arch up when I bite your nipples. I like tonguing at your belly button and Angel, I love worshiping your cock with my mouth. I love doing that for you because you deserve it. Because you’re amazing. Because you’re deserving of the reverent hands and mouths and attentions of all of your lovers and I’m glad to do my part.

I love taking my time pushing into your body because somehow you’re always so tight. I like sitting like that, buried in you to the hilt and staring down at your face. There’s a reason I always wait until your eyes open up and you’re looking back at me. Your eyes, Angel… they say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but what the hell do they know? You wear your soul on your sleeve. Your eyes are the doors to Heaven, and I need them open when I’m inside you.

And Dear Angel… your orgasms are as pure as angelic grace. I’m certain they could bring about world peace if we could find a way to bottle them up.

I like doting on you afterward, too, and that goes for always, whether we’ve ridden a slow-cresting wave or a riptide. There’s nothing quite like the scrape of your stubble on my chest as you cuddle up and dot me with tiny little kisses that spill out of those soft, beautiful lips. There’s nothing like the soft laughter and the pillow talk. There’s nothing like the way you just lay there, completely relaxed. You’re never so at peace as you are in the afterglow.

Except maybe when you’re asleep, the way you are now. Christ, the sunbeams are coming in and hitting you just right, like you’re set up for a photoshoot. How is that even possible?

The fans - they’d eat this shit up with a spoon, by the way - they say this thing.  _ How is he real life? _ I think I get it now. How are you real life, Angel?

Hell… how are  _ we _ real life? I swear any moment now I’m going to wake up--

 

“J?”

“Hey.”

“Mmm… time is it?”

“Early. Go back to sleep.” Jensen quickly clicks the  _ save _ button and tries to hurry his laptop along in closing down as his partner shifts onto his side, blue eyes wide and sleepy and full of wonder at the new day.

When their eyes meet, Misha’s face breaks into a smile so big it shows teeth. “Nah. ‘D rather be awake with you. Whatch'u working on?”

Jensen weighs his options for response.  _ Nothing important _ is on his tongue, but it’s a lie. “Surprise,” he says instead, and it’s worth it for the way Misha ducks his head and worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Jensen closes the laptop and sets it on his nightstand before sliding down to lay on his side as Misha adjusts to mirror his posture. “Hey.”

“You said that already.” 

“I suppose I did. Hmmmm…” Jensen closes the gap between them until it’s nonexistent and then pulls Misha into an embrace and a deep, searching kiss. He breaks when a thought occurs to him. “Did you know,” he says, eyes twinkling, “that you have the most beautiful soul I’ve ever seen?”

It’s worth it for the way Misha collapses against him, his face warm with a blush. “Will you just…” the older man tries, but then he quiets, and sighs. 

“Just what?”

“Just… stop talking and kiss me.”

Jensen stares into his lover’s eyes for a long moment. He takes in the sleep still clogged in the corners. He takes in the wrinkles, as much from a lifetime of smiles as from age. He takes in the impossible blue, so beautiful it’s barely human. And then he leans forward and loses himself in the beautiful lips he’s been admiring from the moment he woke up. 

_ Kiss you, Angel? Of course. It’s literally the least I can do _ .


End file.
